“Thunder, and carry one!” was Wild Bill’s exclamation. “I reckon, Cody, if you’re right—and it looks it—the fellow is a giant. That print is as big as the spoor of an elephant.”
Looking back, Buffalo Bill saw the three Apaches still prostrating themselves. But Little Cayuse, remembering doubtless that he was a chief, and possibly ashamed of his show of fear, had withdrawn from them. Yet he was still staring at the mountain, as if wondering what had become of the black head.
Observing Little Cayuse’s attitude, Wild Bill laughed.
“You see what it will mean, pard, when they discover these big tracks. They’ll be sure they’re the tracks of the giant whose head they saw over there.”
Buffalo Bill had already thought of that.
“And Nomad will be as bad,” Wild Bill added. “Here’s a whiskizoos for him that’s worth thinking about. What do you make out of it, Cody, anyhow? Was the fellow who went along here a giant, or did he have a case of deformed feet?”
As it was a question that could not be answered, the scout did not try to reply, but, standing on the rock by the sandy depression, he signaled to Nick Nomad to bring down the horses.
Nomad was seen to shake his head lugubriously; but he got up the horses, and began to pack the camp kit and other belongings, after having saddled and bridled the animals.
Having seen the old trapper begin this, Buffalo Bill went on with the work in hand, accompanied by Wild Bill, who made a running fire of comment in low tones, with now and then a characteristic humorous expression.
“What about Little Cayuse and the ’Paches?” Hickok asked after a while.